


Hey, Sweetheart

by CalumSmiles (dreamforlife)



Category: 5 Seconds of Summer (Band)
Genre: Boys In Love, Codependency, Fluff, Humor, Lowkey crack but not really, M/M, Mutual Pining, Warm and Fuzzy Feelings, anyway, it was so wholesome, remember when they lived together for a hot minute, they talked about their gas bill
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-04-05
Updated: 2020-04-05
Packaged: 2021-03-01 19:08:11
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,943
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23502094
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/dreamforlife/pseuds/CalumSmiles
Summary: “…will do it, right, Ash?”He tugs the microphone down towards his mouth and still tugging at the ring, says, “Sure, yeah, sweetheart.” Because it’s Calum and there’s hardly any point pretending he won’t do whatever Calum wants.The deafening bellow of screams that erupts from the crowd shocks him into sitting up, the ring tearing free through the jeans at the sudden movement, leaving a tear right up his thigh.Shit. These are his second-favourite jeans. His heart settling into a frantic beat, he looks up into the spotlights and tries to find his bandmates in the wash of light.“What?”He says into the microphone. “What happened?”~~~Or, the one where Ashton accidentally calls Calum 'sweetheart' and then can't stop doing it. But he thinks too much and Calum just wishes Ashton would make a move.
Relationships: Calum Hood/Ashton Irwin
Comments: 23
Kudos: 209





	Hey, Sweetheart

**Author's Note:**

> It's been about sixty-five million years since I posted anything 5sos-related, but I have an essay due and I've had this idea in my WIPs for two years and obviously this was the time to finish it. Just a little fluffy cashton piece for anyone who's still reading fics out here hahaha 
> 
> STREAM _CALM_ , ITS SO SO GOOD, I LOVE IT

The first time, it happens in the studio.

They’re in the middle of practice and Ashton is scribbling notes on a paper braced on a stool beside his kit. The pencil snaps. He looks up to ask for another one.

Calum doesn’t look at him as he tosses the one he was fiddling with, tapping away with one hand on a laptop.

Ashton catches it.

“Thanks, sweetheart.”

He finishes scribbling down his thoughts and looks up into dead silence, four pairs of eyes fixed on him. He arches an eyebrow.

“What?”

Michael is grinning at him, canines glinting. “Nothing.”

Luke is clutching a plastic water bottle so hard it’s crumpling in his hands but he gives nothing away except for a building smirk, the bastard, and turns back to his conversation with the writers, who looks far too amused before sharing a look with Luke and settling back in his chair.

When Ashton turns to Calum in despair, he’s expecting the same smarmy, knowing grin. God knows what he’s done this time to embarrass himself. He had been known to talk to himself during these studio sessions when he’s deep in his head.

Instead, Calum is watching him with wide eyes, laptop abandoned on his legs and half-slipping onto the couch, absolutely frozen in action. His cheeks and ears are flushed red. It is rather hot in here, Ashton might turn on the aircon.

 _“What?”_ He asks again.

Michael actually bursts into laughter before shutting himself up just as fast and Ashton swings around to stare at him in disbelief.

“Michael, what the fuck is going on?” Because it doesn’t seem like he’s getting an answer out of Calum anytime soon.

“Nothing,” Michael says with a glance at Calum. “Nothing at all, sweetheart.”

Typical.

Ashton rolls his eyes and settles into his stool behind the kit. “Keep the pet names at home, Clifford. Now about this verse…”

Ashton decides to ignore his weird friends and move on with the important things. Like the album that they are _supposed_ to be working on.

It’s when Luke starts tossing _sweetheart_ at him not long after, with a layer of mocking sweetness when around Calum, and then again and again with a sharp grin his way, that Ashton realises what must have happened. His ears bleed red for too long but he refuses to let on that his stomach feels like permanent freefall because he figured out what he did.

Calum catches his gaze several times, studying him with those soulful brown eyes, but Ashton valiantly pretends he has no idea anything is wrong and ignores the tight clench behind his lungs every time Calum looks away.

*

The second time, it happens not long after, on the bus, somewhere across New Mexico.

Ashton is nursing the second cup of green tea of his painfully early morning when Calum stumbles out of the bunk area into the small kitchen, rubbing his eyes and dressed in shorts.

The road is rushing beneath their feet, it’s barely two in the morning with jetlag hooked deep in their bones, and Ashton studies Calum with a barely-there smile in the muted night light of the bus.

He watches Calum instead of the occasional blur of lights in the darkness outside, watches as he flops into the leather booth seats on the opposite side of the table and can’t help a slightly wider smile when Calum drops his head against the cool glass of the window with a small, exhausted huff.

Ashton twists around, pours a cup from the pot he’d made – he happens to like making tea, so what, it’s a calming ritual when he can’t sleep – and slides it across to Calum.

When Calum slits his eyes open, Ashton nods at the tea. The soft curve of Calum’s mouth makes the stars brighter. As Calum curls up with the mug, Ashton settles back himself and finds himself content to soak in Calum’s easy presence and while away the time in silence.

Calum watches him for a few moments, eyes hooded, meditative, a soft curiosity in his gaze. Ashton takes a sip of his tea. Waits.

“You okay?” comes the question, syllables melting into each other, the vowels coated in sleep, though gallantly fought off in the face of an insomniac.

His lips twitch. “Always,” he answers and lets the smile peek through when Calum manages a slow roll of his eyes.

“Can I help?”

Ashton thinks about how easy it would be to confess in this bubble of theirs, but he won’t. He knows he won’t. Instead, he lets the smile widen a little.

“You always do.” He thinks that it’s confession enough.

Calum’s eyes go a molten dark despite the drowsy film in them, catching several streetlights when he shifts. “Okay,” he sighs finally and Ashton wilts in relief.

A comfortable silence falls over them again.

They spend several hours that way before Calum eventually shifts, blinking awake from where he had dropped off against the window.

“Go sleep,” Ashton murmurs, unwilling to break the gentle atmosphere wrapped around them.

Calum unwinds himself with bleary eyes and shuffles towards the bunks, turning at the last minute to look at Ashton over a bare shoulder. His face is shrouded in shadows but the question is clear.

Ashton shrugs, gesturing to his half-empty third cup. It’s unlikely sleep will come easy to him.

The uncertainty in Calum’s thoughts is betrayed by the hand that spasms against the wall.

He softens around the shoulders. “Sleep, sweetheart.”

Something flickers in Calum’s face but he keeps his sleepy dark eyes on Ashton for a moment longer, saying nothing as he had all this time but looking like he wants to, before disappearing into the darkness beyond.

This time, the word slips around him in circles for a long while and he sighs into the empty night air and downs the tea, praying he falls asleep as he heads for his bunk.

*

The third time he slips up, he hasn’t seen Calum in almost two months.

Sure, he hadn’t exactly been wallowing alone, and _sure,_ technically he had left first after his sister had insisted on a family holiday for their mum’s fifty-fifth birthday. But Calum wasn’t supposed to be away when he left the wonders of the Mediterranean behind and landed in LA.

Except he was.

Calum had had plans to laze around with friends, write a couple of songs and play with Duke, drop in to check in on Ashton’s house. Instead, Ashton gets delighted, adrenalin-filled calls from halfway across the world where Calum is making snow angels with his sister and posting pictures of marshmallows melting in hot chocolate all the way in London of all places.

It’s not like Ashton can complain – though he really, _really_ wants to. But since Mali is his sister in all but blood, he swallows his selfish thoughts and grins across the distances. Mali knows him too well, making faces at him behind Calum’s back as they FaceTime for the third time in a week.

So, Ashton can’t complain.

Instead, he begrudgingly puts up with Petunia eating all his best food and Luke eating the rest, and lets Luke sprawl around his house for the two and a half weeks it takes Calum to remember he left something behind in LA and get back home. Michael drops by for lunch and an occasional drink, but actually goes home like a considerate human being.

Luke does not.

“Feet off the damn coffee table,” he gripes at Luke as he walks past, mostly out of a newfound sense of bitterness because Luke had come flouncing into his house after a date with Sierra looking all kinds of way too happy, and because the coffee table is glass and Luke’s sweaty feet always leave marks every time he comes over.

Luke snorts and his feet don’t move an inch. Asshole. “Missed your hourly dose of Calum, sweetheart?”

Ashton swings around to snarl at him with pent-up irritation in his throat – because close to three weeks of Luke’s drawling, saccharine _sweethearts_ and the gaping lack of Calum in his life has left him with a transparent, splintering thread of patience – but just as he’s about to let his frustrations tear open, the front door swings open and Ashton’s world tilts right back onto its axis.

“Cal!”

Calum, because it is indeed Calum, drops his own keys and the spare key to Ashton’s into the bowl on the table in the front hallway, abandons his duffel and backpack on the floor, and doesn’t spare a single glance around the house before launching himself at Ashton.

They rock backwards with the momentum and Ashton laughs into Calum’s hair. Something settles under his skin. The irritation melts away into nothing. He breathes in the faded scent of apples and aeroplane air, and finally, _finally,_ the tension in his shoulders disappears.

“Hey, Ash,” Calum says and the grin is clear in his voice.

Ashton thinks about trying to climb right inside Calum and he tightens his grip but relaxes a minute later so it’s not quite as obvious that he wants to absorb Calum through his skin.

“Hey,” he says softly. “Hey, sweetheart.” Two months. As the word slips out, he thinks that’s enough of an excuse.

Calum hums in his ear and knuckles brush against the back of his head. “Hi,” he murmurs.

“Just so you know, I’m sending my dentist’s bill to the two of you. And my therapist’s. This is disgusting.”

He’s going to kill Luke. He’s going to kill Luke with his bare hands and toss his dismembered parts off a cliff into the fucking Pacific. How’s that for therapy.

Calum pulls away, obviously startled, and turns to look at Luke who hasn’t moved from his prone position on the couch.

“I moved in while you were gone,” Luke says in lieu of a greeting, raising his iced tea at a bemused Calum.

As if the asshole hadn’t carved a space for himself in Ashton’s life since he was fourteen. But Ashton digresses.

Calum arches an eyebrow and looks at Ashton. “Just how long was I gone?”

“Long enough that Ashton became an actual Grinch and his heart shrank three sizes.”

Ashton shrugs, shooting Luke a glare tinged with a promise of painful death. “Long enough that Luke became part of my fucking furniture and I had to pry him off my bed for the first three days in a row. And I’m aware of how that sounds,” he continues before Calum can finish the thought. “He refused to sleep in the guest room.”

Calum rolls his eyes. “Luke, get the fuck out. When I told you to keep an eye on him so he doesn’t become a hermit crab and mope, I didn’t mean move the fuck in, mate.”

It’s Ashton’s turn to imitate a fish.

“Call once in a while, you’re neglecting your duties. You move in, you’re doing too much. Geez, there’s just _no_ _winning_ with you people.” Luke theatrically picks his feet off the coffee table one by one and rises to his feet. He shoves his sunglasses over his curls as a slow smirk curls across his lips. “Besides, this is my cue to get the fuck out. I know when I’m unwanted. I don’t need to see any dicks flying around.”

He pulls Calum in for a quick hug, winks overtly at Ashton and, with Petunia trotting by his side, Luke Hemmings disappears out the door, his shoes hanging off his fingers and a whistle caught in his lips. His iced tea sits half-empty on the coffee table, leaving condensation on the glass top.

Ashton’s eye twitches.

“You asked him to keep an eye on me?” He asks instead of letting the building headache explode.

Calum turns back to him with a twinkle in his brown eyes. “Ash, you do realise we have an unhealthy attachment to each other, right?”

“It’s not _unhealthy,”_ Ashton mutters, distracting himself from Calum’s warm amusement by grabbing Luke’s abandoned drink and heading for the kitchen.

“Ashton, we’ve been apart for six weeks. That’s the longest we’ve been apart for over three _years._ Luke said you moped for _four days_ after you came back even though he was right here. Michael was worried you’d do something stupid. Like let Luke dictate your life and let Petunia leave paw prints on your tiles. Unhealthy. Attachment. You let Luke _move in._ ”

“Okay, fuck off, we are not that bad.”

Calum snorts. “Yeah. Okay _._ Tell that to the eight or so hour-long FaceTime calls we had. In two weeks.”

“It was nine and it was two and a half weeks.”

Calum is heading for the stairs with a measured _uh huh_ over his shoulder as if Ashton is the one being dramatic.

It’s not unhealthy. He just. He likes having Calum around. That’s all.

Later, because he’s not actually an asshole and he appreciates his friends dealing with his moods, he texts Luke. _Thanks._

Luke’s reply is characteristic. _Kiss him and we’re even._

_Fuck you._

_Not even if you paid me, Ashton._

*

The fourth time, it’s a little more public.

By little, he means a _lot._

They are well into their set, about ten minutes to go till the encore, and Ashton’s barely listening to what is being said, distracted by one of his rings caught in the frayed right knee of his jeans and hurriedly attempting to untangle it before the next song.

“…will do it, right, Ash?”

He tugs the microphone down towards his mouth and still tugging at the ring, says, “Sure, yeah, sweetheart.” Because it’s Calum and there’s hardly any point pretending he won’t do whatever Calum wants.

The deafening bellow of screams that erupts from the crowd shocks him into sitting up, the ring tearing free through the jeans at the sudden movement, leaving a tear right up his thigh. _Shit._ These are his second-favourite jeans. His heart settling into a frantic beat, he looks up into the spotlights and tries to find his bandmates in the wash of light.

“What?” He says into the microphone. “What happened?”

Michael is bent with his forehead resting on his microphone, eyes closed, looking absolutely done with the world in the face of the wall of noise ringing around them.

Laughter joins the screams, hysterical and delighted, before fading away and Ashton watches Luke fold over in half, hands braced on his knees, guitar pushed into his ribcage, and _laugh._

“ _What?”_ He asks again.

More screams. Luke chokes, coughs, and tumbles right back into laughing, tears glinting under the lights. Michael turns to stare at him, dead-pan surprise and amusement burning in his eyes, and he shakes his head at Ashton slowly.

“Un-fucking-believable.”

When Michael says nothing more, Ashton swings to Calum. “Cal?”

Calum stands, one hand curled around his microphone, the other on his bass, and is staring at him with a fond delight betrayed only by the flush of pink in his cheeks under the lights and the small curve to his mouth. He raises his eyes to the ceiling of the arena before leaning into the microphone.

“Ash.” It’s audible now, the crowd suddenly quieter, a switch flipped, like Calum’s response is the next Word of God and they are hanging on to every single one of them. Calum huffs a laugh and the crowd laugh with him. “Ashton, _sweetheart,_ you need to pay attention.”

A hot-cold flush burns through his body and Ashton feels his entire face flush with heat as renewed yells of glee shake the venue walls. Luke’s choked laughter bleeds through the speakers.

 _Fuck._ He _didn’t._

Ashton clears his throat. “Shut up.”

Real nice. Genius work.

Calum’s grin sharpens. “Not what you said last night, _baby.”_

The arena explodes. Michael has his head in his hands, sitting on the edge of the stage now, utterly defeated. Luke is using his microphone stand for support, shoulders shuddering though he is watching the two of them with an endeared, teary-eyed grin.

Ashton promises Calum death with his eyes. “Last night, “ he says, measured. “Was a mistake, darling. I’ve drawn a veil over last night.”

Michael drops back flat onto the stage with a groan so loud, it can be heard above the crowd as it roars. Ashton grins.

“Little boys who play with fire get their fingers burned,” Luke drawls.

Calum sighs and turns a forlorn look on the poor, unsuspecting Minnesota crowd and says, “Honey, honey, how he kills me, ah-hah,” his tone bone dry.

The crowd _hollers._

Ashton sighs audibly over the speakers and rolls his eyes.

*

Calum kisses him.

Calum kisses him after the show because he’s brave and maybe a little stupid and definitely frustrated with Ashton’s emotional constipation because he should have kissed Calum at least two years ago but he _hasn’t,_ because he thinks too much. He thinks too much and trips around in his own head, pulling at strings and worrying, worrying, _worrying_ when he should maybe just let himself be happy.

Ashton swallows the noise of surprise and curls a hand around Calum’s ribs, kissing back for a few moments until it stops feeling like he might die from the slow, deep kiss that’s entangled with his heartstrings to spark thunder in his chest.

“You’re an idiot,” Calum says as he pulls away. He’s breathless and dishevelled and sweaty from the show but he’s glowing and beautiful and Ashton is so in love with him.

“I’m so in love with you,” he breathes out in a jumbled rush.

Calum’s grin is wide. His eyes gleam. “Yeah. Yeah, I know. I know, sweetheart.”

Ashton thinks he deserved that.

**Author's Note:**

> Hope you guys enjoyed it!! Let me know in the comments if you did. Thanks for reading xx


End file.
